


Heat

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 08:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: What to do to beat the heat one late night on a case - set end of season 6ish





	Heat

The air conditioner in Scully’s motel room rattles too loudly for her to sleep, but it’s too hot to turn it off.  The ancient, noisy box doesn’t provide much cold air, but it’s enough to beat back the humidity.  Restless, she gets out of bed and slips on a pair of sandals.  She distinctly remembered seeing a vending machine by the manager’s office, maybe she could get a cold water, or at the very least, a bucket of ice.  She doesn’t bother putting on another layer of clothes over her shorts and tank top.  It’s after midnight, there were only four cars in the parking lot at this motel and one of them was the rental she and Mulder picked up at the airport that morning.  Who would be out this late in the middle of nowhere?

 

Mulder.  Of course, Mulder is out this late in the middle of nowhere.  As soon as Scully steps outside, she sees him, sprawled in one of the tiny plastic chairs that dot the front of the rooms beneath the windows.  He’s got his running shorts on and he’s wiping his face with the front of his t-shirt.  When he sees her, he bends his wrist up and flutters his fingers once in a wave.

 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks as she shuffles by.

 

Scully raises the ice bucket in reply and wipes a sheen of sweat off her upper lip that’s already formed in the few moments she’s been outside.  He nods and she keeps shuffling towards the office.   The vending machine won’t accept her dollar.  Even though it’s lit, it doesn’t seem to be on.  She sighs and fills her bucket with little rectangular pellets of ice and shuffles back towards her room.

 

“I was thinking,” Mulder says, as she passes him, “what if the witnesses stories aren’t rehearsed, but it’s part of a post-hypnotic suggestion?”

 

She pauses and sighs.  “We can talk about it tomorrow,” she says.

 

“Technically, it is tomorrow.”

 

“Mr. Rappaport won’t be any less dead in the morning.”

 

Behind them, a bug zapper hanging next to management’s door sizzles and snaps about every ten seconds.  It suddenly occurs to her that the glowing blue light is irresistible to the bugs in the same way that lights in the sky are irresistible to Mulder.  Can’t stop, won’t stop, even if he - if they - get burned.  

 

“It must be at least a hundred degrees still,” Mulder complains, wiping his face again with his shirt.

 

Better than frostbite, she thinks, her mind wandering back to last summer.  Condensation drips from the ice bucket onto her toes and she startles just a little.  Mulder suddenly pushes himself out of the chair and stretches his arms over his head.

 

“I’m gonna check out that pool,” he says.  “Wanna come?”

 

“It’s so hot.”

 

“That’s kind of the point.”  Mulder smiles at her over his shoulder as he walks away from her.  She hesitates for a few moments and then follows, hugging the dripping ice bucket to her chest.

 

Typical Mulder, he ignores the Pool Closes at 10PM sign and pushes the gate open.  It rattles as the bottom scrapes the concrete.  Scully is the one that slowly pushes it shut, conscientious of the noise lest they wake their sleeping neighbors, or worse, management.  The pool looks surprisingly clean; no debris on the surface and the bottom is visible even in such poor lighting.  Mulder crouches down, dips a hand in the water, and then makes a noise of relief as he brings it, dripping wet, to the back of his neck.

 

“Let’s go in,” Mulder says.

 

“We can’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s closed.”

 

Mulder shrugs and peels off his t-shirt.  She thinks he’s going to use his running shorts for swim trunks, but he shucks those too and she doesn’t even have time to look away without catching a glimpse of his bare backside.  She wonders where and how he managed to get tan lines with his back so bronze and his ass so white.  Her head is still turned as he slides almost silently into the water, maybe finally aware of the fact that getting caught would mean getting kicked out.

 

“Come in,” he says.

 

“I don’t have a suit.”

 

“Me neither.”

 

Scully takes a glance at the pool and Mulder grins before dunking his head and then coming up and spitting a mouthful of water in her direction.  She shuffles backwards, but he hits her legs anyway.  The water is cool and tempting.

 

“I’ll keep my eyes closed,” he says, squinting hard, but she can see him watching her anyway.

 

“Turn around.”

 

One eye opens, but his face stays scrunched.  “Don’t trust me?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Mulder grins and dunks down again.  When he comes back up, his back is to her and he shakes water from his hair.  The ice rattles in the bucket as she sets it on the ground.  It takes a few more moments of nervous hesitation before she pulls her tank top off.  She shivers, even though she’s not cold, and something tickles the back of her neck.  She slaps at it reflexively and though her hand comes away empty, she catches sight of a mosquito in the corner of her eye.  Malaria, her mind screams.  West Nile.  Yellow Fever.  Alien virus of unknown origin.

 

“You coming?” Mulder asks.

 

“Don’t turn around.”  She takes a deep breath and pushes her shorts off, letting them pool at her foot with her underwear.  This is crazy, she thinks.  You’re crazy for doing this.  You’re both crazy.

 

“I’ll give you until the count of three.”

 

“Mulder, no.”

 

“One.”

 

Scully takes hold of the guide pole and dips a shy toe into the water.  She turns and moves her foot down to the first step, up to her knee now.  Goose flesh blooms on her legs and arms from the drastic change from outside to inside temperatures.

 

“Two,” Mulder says.

 

“Stop.”  Another step and she’s down to the backs of her thighs.

 

“Two and a half.”

 

“I shot you once, I’ll do it again.”  The last step brings the water up to her waist, but she’s not ready to let go quite yet.

 

“Two and three quarters.”

 

Scully takes a deep breath and sinks down until her shoulders disappear and she’s treading water, the edge of the pool getting further away as her body is pushed backwards by her kicking legs.

 

“Three,” Mulder says, but he doesn’t turn.

 

“I’m here.”

 

Mulder swivels to face her and she sees his eyes drop to the surface of the pool and quickly back up to her face.  It’s too dark to really see anything and she supposes it probably shouldn’t matter anyway.  Once you’ve shared a decontamination shower with someone, there’s not much left to the imagination.  Still, she can’t help her own gaze from drifting down into the depths of the pool.  It’s how she notices he’s standing and not actually treading water, like herself, but he spreads his arms like he is.

 

“You want to hold on to me?” he asks.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, but surprises them both by drifting closer and reaching for his shoulders.  The tops of her feet brush his knees as she steadies herself.  When she relaxes her arms, she sinks down to her chin, but Mulder puts his arms under hers and brings her back up.

 

There’s a look of stunned fear in Mulder’s eyes and he keeps still, like she’s a small animal, like any sudden movements might chase her away.  She takes one hand from his shoulder, plugs her nose, closes her eyes, and plunges down into the water.  Her fingers tighten on Mulder’s shoulder as she springs back up to the surface and he grabs onto her arm as she pushes her wet hair back over her head.  Her body collides softly with his and he takes a step back and pushes her away.  She’s oddly disappointed by the space between them.

 

“Sorry,” he whispers.

 

“What makes you think post-hypnotic suggestion?” she asks.

 

“I thought you wanted to talk about it tomorrow.”

 

Scully stares at Mulder’s mouth, remembering how their lips almost touched last summer and the anticipation as his he moved in towards her.  She doesn’t remember much of what happened after that, but she does remember that moment and she wonders why it ended there.  Maybe the cool water emboldens her, maybe she’s tired, or maybe it’s just time for answers.  

 

“You can tell me if I’m going to have to wait another five years for you to try to kiss again me instead,” Scully says.

 

“Um…”  Mulder blinks, purses his lips, says nothing.

 

Scully slides her arms around Mulder’s neck and presses her chest to his.  He moves his arms out and stumbles backwards a little bit.

 

“Um…”  Mulder says again.

 

Scully uses her wet nose to caress the line of Mulder’s jaw.  She can still smell a hint of his aftershave, and chlorine, but mostly aftershave.  His hands find the back of her shoulders and he holds her lightly.

 

“All six of the witnesses used the word ‘vibrant’ when describing the way the lights lit up the sky,” he says, voice higher pitched than normal.  “And I...I...I’m not even sure Mr. Mitchum knows what the word vibrant means.  I think the...the memory of the event was implanted somehow and whatever killed Rappaport was actually nothing like how they describe.”

 

“Mulder,” she murmurs, lips grazing the back of his jaw, just beneath his ear.  “Mr. Rappaport died of accidental electrocution.”

 

“Electrocution, yes.  Accidental, no.”

 

“Aliens didn’t kill Mr. Rappaport.”

 

“It’s just that you never mentioned it, Scully - what happened in my hallway.  Not once.  I didn’t think...I just didn’t think you…”

 

“What are we doing in this pool, Mulder?”  Scully pulls her head back and stares Mulder in the eyes.  

 

“It’s hot out.  You...we just needed to cool off.”  He follows her gaze as she turns her head and looks at the ice bucket.

 

“That’s what the ice was for,” she says.

 

Their heads turn back towards each other at the same time, but Scully angles hers just so and presses her mouth to his.  Mulder’s arms move around her waist, squeezing her tight.  Despite the cool water, she’s warm all over again, heart racing.  She likes the little splish-splash sounds the water makes around them, masking their heavy breathing and the wet slide of their tongues against each other.

 

Mulder pulls back suddenly, breathing roughly.  “Don’t think you can kiss me and make me buy into your accidental electrocution theory,” he pants.  

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she answers, a teeth-baring smile on her face.  “Same goes for you and your post-hypnotic suggestion theory.”

 

“Do you want to get out of the pool?”

 

“I think I’d like to stay a bit longer,” she says, pulling him back in for another kiss.

 

The End 

 

 


End file.
